Healing Magic
by girlfromgraz
Summary: Farkas notices his brother's strange amulet and Falka talks about her magical skills.


"Brother?"

"Mh?" Vilkas didn't even look up as his twin sat down next to him on the stairs of Jorrvaskr's patio.

"I gotta ask you somethin'."

Another questioning "Hm?" was all Farkas got in reply.

"Is… Is everything… fine? Between you and Falka, that is."

This time, he got more than a grunted reply. Vilkas' head shot up from the dagger he'd been honing, his eyes locking on Farkas' face. "What?"

"Are you… happy?"

"Yes." Vilkas shook his head, puzzled. "Yes, of course. Why are you asking?"

Farkas' brow furrowed. "Then why are you wearing an Amulet of Mara?"

"Oh," Finally, Vilkas understood his brother's confusion. A grin curled his lips as he put his tools down next to him. His hand went to the cord around his neck. "That." He pulled the amulet out from under his shirt. "Didn't think anyone would notice."

"You're my brother," was all Farkas offered by ways of explanation. "Though it looks like a mammoth sat on it."

"Hey guys." Falka let herself drop down on the steps between the two men. "Who sat on a mammoth?"

Vilkas jiggled the amulet between his fingers.

"Oh."

"Why's he wearing that?" Farkas wanted to know.

"Because Red tends to get reckless in fights. And once she's run out of spells—"

"I never run out of spells!"

"You do." And then, to his brother, "You know she's got this tendency to attract every foe in the area at once? The first few spells are fine, but eventually, she has to rely on close combat. And by the time I get to pull her out of the heap of bodies, we're both out of healing potions and she's still bleeding or something." He interrupted himself, chuckling at Falka's half-hearted attempts to silence him. Vilkas simply pulled her in a tight embrace and literally locked her to his side before facing his brother again. "And I rather resort to healing her – meager though my skill is than letting her bleed to death."

"She's rubbing off on you," Farkas stated, poking Falka in a playful way. She complained, swatting at his prodding finger.

A fond smile spread over his brother's face. "I guess she is," he agreed with Farkas, hugging Falka to his chest.

"But don't you do restoration?" Farkas ceased his jabbing. "Aren't you something important at Winterhold?"

Falka nodded. "I was. They even wanted to make me honorary member of the order," her admission was heavy with sarcasm. "No idea what brought that on. But I don't do restoration."

"In that case… You might wanna disfigure Mara's Amulet even more; before anybody else notices…"

Once their laughter had subsided, Farkas continued, "So you don't do Restoration and I know you do Destruction. But what about the rest? There's Conjuration, right?"

"Aye," Falka agreed, not without a certain reluctance. Vilkas tried to hide a smile in her hair.

"So can you conjure a… I don't know… a skeleton or something? We could have live targets for the whelps' training."

At Farkas' suggestion, Vilkas' composure shattered. His laughter filled the yard. Another one of her achievements, Farkas reflected. Before Falka'd come into their lives, it had been a rare occasion indeed to hear his brother laugh. Now, she was facing Vilkas in a mock-fight, trying to hit him with her fists. The two struggled for a few moments, with Vilkas easily shrugging off her attacks, with tears of joy sparkling his eyes. Before long, he caught her hands, pulling her into an embrace.

"So you don't do Conjuration, either?" Farkas interrupted the couple.

"Oh, she does," his brother grinned, earning another elbow to his ribs from Falka. "Last time she tried, it turned out a butterfly."

"A butterfly?" Farkas couldn't quite believe his ears.

"Aye."

"Well…" Falka shrugged, trying to downplay the story, though she couldn't fully hide a grin tugging at her lips. "Not really a butterfly…"

"So what'd you call a tiny insect with brilliantly coloured wings in Hammerfell, then?"

Falka grumbled something, too low even for the brothers' good hearing.

"What was that? Couldn't hear you, Red," Vilkas teased.

"A butterfly."

"'nd what was it supposed to be?" Farkas inquired. It was good to see his brother in such high spirits again.

"An atronach."

Farkas burst out laughing, tearing the other two with him. Even Tilma, who had come out to get the dried laundry, chuckled.

"You ever tried something besides an atronach?" Farkas wheezed.

Falka mumbled an affirmative.

"What?"

"A skeleton."

"What'd that turn out?" Farkas couldn't resist the temptation of asking.

Falka only wrinkled her nose.

"A lunar moth," Vilkas supplied from next to her.

"You really do enjoy this, don't you?"

"Aye." Both brothers grinned at her.

"'Cause you get the sweetest accent when you're annoyed," Vilkas added and pulled her even closer for a kiss.

Farkas shook his head, getting up. "Beer anyone?"

Two hands shot up in the air.

On his return, Farkas placed the other two mugs on the floor between him and Falka and took a long, deep gulp of his own. "I won't even ask about Illusion," he commented, staring at the snow-capped summits in the distance.

"Oi!" Falka protested, turning to face him. She took the two tankards Farkas had brought, handing one over to Vilkas. "But," – she took a swallow of her beer – "you are right. I don't do Illusion either. Maybe I could, I never tried enough. It bores me." She remained silent for a moment, taking another draught of her beer. "I do a bit of Alteration, though. Candlelight, Waterbreathing, Life Detection, that sort of things."

An eagle soared through the distant sky.

"And Destruction."

"And Destruction," she agreed.

"Nobody in Skyrim exceeds her skill in destruction magic," Vilkas nodded proudly.

"But no ice spells," Falka made sure to add, "No ice…"

"Why not?" Farkas inquired, finally tearing his gaze away from the distant mountains to look at her and Vilkas.

Falka shook her head. "It took me over 20 years to wrap my head around the idea of frozen water, Farkas."

"But you've seen it now. You never tried, since?"

Falka raised her hand with her open palm facing skywards. She flexed her fingers and formed a fist. For some moments, nothing happened. Then, her muscles started clenching. The sinews showed under her skin. Slowly, she forced her fist open. Under the stares of both men, a tiny blue ball slowly began to form in the air above her palm. She held it for a moment, jaw clenched tight in concentration. Her entire arm began to tremble.

Gently, Vilkas cupped her hand in his own and closed it around hers, forcing her fingers into a fist with his own. The small ball of energy dissolved.

Farkas couldn't help but notice the look on her face. To take the sting away from her, he said, "You're better at setting you enemies on fire, aren't you?"

Falka nodded.

"That," Tilma added from behind them, "and her husband."


End file.
